It's All My Fault
by You'llRememberMe
Summary: They say grief is crippling. And if that's true, then guilt is a deathblow... WARNING! Character Death. Please read anyway! BONUS: "Dear, Lassie" is up now.  COMPLETE!
1. Chapter 1

_**WARNING!: Death of major character!**_

**_A/N: The idea for this story came to me around 1:38 AM this morning (last night?) and I couldn't resist writing it. It's been re-written so many different ways now that I had to settle on one or I'd never publish it. I hope you guys don't decide to not read it because of the CharDeath in it. PLEASE READ! It's not going where you think it is, trust me. I know where you think it's headed._**

**_I'm going to do a chapter for every major character. Don't expect them to be all that long because I don't think I can do that. And if people want it, I may write a chapter for Buzz too._**

**_Disclaimer: I do not own Psych or any of it's characters. That good enough for ya?_**

**_Read and, most importantly, REVIEW!_**

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The men dragged Shawn to the back of the warehouse. He struggled, but the two men who were holding him were determined and strong as hell. Shawn heard footsteps and he looked up. There they were, standing in the doorway. The cavalry had arrived. He just hoped it wasn't too late.

"FREEZE!" Lassiter bellowed, his gun aimed at the man to Shawn's left.

"Drop your weapons!" Juliet shouted, _her _gun aimed at the man to Shawn's right.

"Jules! Lassie!" Shawn began, but then he noticed something in one of the men's hands. It was barely visible in his big meaty fist, but Shawn could tell what it was. "Get the hell out of here!" He finished, shocking both detectives.

"Shawn," Jules said, her weapon never wavering, "we came to rescue you."

"The psychic's right," Big Guy To The Left said, "if you value your lives you'll leave."

"Last time I checked," Lassiter said, "We were the ones with the guns."

"They've got a _bomb, _Lassie!" Shawn told them, "You have to go _now_!"

"Get out of there, detectives!" Chief Vick's voice came in loud and clear through their earpieces, making them wince. To the untrained ear, she wouldn't sound like she was worried, but they could hear the panic in her voice. "If there's a bomb then it's too dangerous for the two of you alone," She continued.

"O'Hara," Lassiter said, "We can't stay here. This place could go up in flames any second." He took a slight step back which made Juliet glance at him, disbelief clear in her eyes.

"We can't just leave him here, Carlton!" She argued.

The two men holding Shawn were done with this arguing. "Are you two done yet?" One of them asked.

"Yes," Lassiter answered for the both of them, he looked at Juliet and Shawn in turn, "I'm sorry, but it's an order from the Chief. We have to listen to her."

"But..." Juliet was out of things to say. "We'll come back for you, Shawn." Determination shone in her eyes through the unshed tears welling there. With that she and Lassiter backed out of the doorway and to the shelter of the newly formed police barricade.

Shawn knew they would come back for him, but he also knew he wouldn't be there to witness it. Just then something slammed into his skull and he was falling into unconsciousness. So when the warehouse exploded into flames he had no clue.

_**OOOOOOoooooOOOOOO**_

"NO!" Juliet screamed as the warehouse exploded. She made a futile attempt at running towards the warehouse but before she took a step Lassiter's strong arms were restraining her.

"SHAWN!" This desperate yell came from Gus, who'd been behind the police lines when the whole ordeal in the warehouse went down. "Shawn..." He whispered before he broke down sobbing uncontrollably.

Karen's jaw dropped in horror. When she'd told her detectives to evacuate the warehouse she'd thought they would have another chance at rescuing the psychic, but now it was too late. Karen thanked God that Henry wasn't here to witness this, otherwise she'd have two lives on her conscience. She had believed that the criminals holding him would use him as a hostage, but eventually release them when their demands were met. She hadn't expected them to kill their hostage and themselves. She shook her head, she should've expected something like this.

They all stared at the flaming mass which, only seconds before, had held the vibrant psychic they had all come to know so well. As they stared they were all thinking the same thing: _It's all my fault..._

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_**I know this chapter was short, but they all will be pretty short. Please read anyway!**_

_**Oh! And give me a lil treat by REVIEWING!**_


	2. Chapter 2: Henry

_**A/N: I know I just posted the first chapter yesterday, but I just couldn't resist! And I figured y'all wouldn't want me to wait another week. Right? Right. **_

_**I really hope you enjoy this chapter. I worked pretty hard on it. Even though I spent like, a day on it.**_

_**PS: I wrote the conversation with Maddie before the one with Jack. So if it's a little awkwardly written that's why.**_

**_Shout out: Thanks to all of you who reviewed this story! And to those of you who didn't: I know you read it. So if you want to read more: REVIEW!_**

**_IMPORTANT! PLEASE READ: I want to ask all of you to vote for either the letter "A" or "B". These letters stand for the way I will end the story. I'm going to write both of them but the one that gets the most votes from you guys will be the last chapter(The "official" ending) and the one that gets the least will be a separate story(The "unofficial" ending). _**

**_I will tell you that "A" involves Buzz and "B" involves Gus._**

**_I couldn't decide how to end it so I thought I'd let you pick. I hope it turns out good either way._**

DISCLAIMER: I own nothing but what I make up.

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**Henry**

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Henry Spencer had always wanted his son to be a cop, and he'd always been disappointed.

When Shawn had started Psych Henry had been ready to add it to the long list of disappointments. There were two things in this world he hated, and Shawn had managed to become both. A private investigator _and _a psychic. Not to mention that he was a fraud, and continued to lie to the police.

But over the past four years his son had closed _a lot _of cases. Many of which the cops may not have solved without his 'psychic visions'. And, despite himself, Henry had started to grudgingly respect what Shawn did. He helped people, and in the end that's all that mattered.

Henry wasn't the type of person to say "good job" or "I'm proud of you" or "I love you", but he'd hoped his son knew what Henry left unsaid anyway. Henry thought that maybe, one day, they could have a talk. One on one. Man to man. He'd planned on saying these things, and more, when that talk came.

But now it never would.

The call had come only ten minutes ago. The call that every parent dreaded, whether they expected it to come eventually or not. The call that changed everything.

His son, vibrant and full of life, was dead. Killed by a bomb blast. Snuffed out as easily as a candle flame.

The Chief, Karen Vick, had been the one to tell him. She'd sounded sad enough on the phone when she'd said she was sorry for his loss and truly regretted hiring Shawn on that case, but Henry wouldn't hear it. _Couldn't_ hear it. It was too painful. Right now the only thing that made sense was blaming Karen for Shawn's death. _She _had been the one to hire him, after all. And _she _was the one who pulled her officers back before they could rescue Shawn. That phone call had been the worst conversation of his life.

Henry couldn't face his ex-wife yet. He'd stall for a while until he absolutely had to. He still had to let his family know, though. So Henry picked up the phone and dialed his brother. Jack was on some crazy treasure hunt in Tel Aviv, but managed to find the time to pick up the phone.

"Well, if it isn't my not-so-long-lost brother!" Jack exclaimed from the other end. "What's with the phone call from nowhere, Henry?"

"Jack," Henry didn't waste time with niceties, "this is serious."

For once, Jack seemed to be paying attention to the situation and heard the genuine pain in Henry's voice. "Well, what is it?"

Henry had to chuckle a little at this, even on this grim day. It took his son's death to get Jack to finally be serious. Soon Henry's little chuckle had turned into silent tears. He was glad his brother couldn't tell he was crying.

"Henry?" Jack's voice brought him back to reality.

Henry proceeded to inform Jack of the situation, and before they said goodbye Jack said he be in Santa Barbara for the funeral. It was a promise Henry hoped he'd keep.

Even after they hung up Henry still held the phone in his hands. He knew what he had to to. He just didn't want to do it. The last two conversations he'd had over the phone had been bad enough, and the next one was going to be even worse. He knew it.

She was in San Francisco on business, she'd been there for a couple of days now. She'd been about to drive out to the airport when he called. Maddie had thought that the call was just to say "hi". She'd been so cheerful when she'd greeted him, it nearly made him sick just to hear her voice. Henry almost hadn't told her why he really called. It had been so tempting just to say goodbye without telling her, but he'd ended up telling her anyway.

"Maddie," He'd said after he stalled for long enough, "I didn't call just to chat."

"Well, then why did you call Henry?" She asked, still sounding happy. She must've had a good day and Henry hated to ruin that.

"It's about Shawn," He answered and he was glad his voice didn't shake. He had to be strong. For Maddie.

For a moment there was only silence and it unnerved Henry. "Maddie?" He called, wondering if she had hung up.

"Sorry," She said and then her voice got low and serious, "What about Shawn?"

"Maddie," He began, "They hired him on a case and things didn't go as planned." He couldn't help his instinct to stall. He didn't want to face the reality.

"What do you mean?" She asked. "Just get to the point, Henry."

"There was a bomb," Henry's voice cracked, "In a warehouse. It detonated before they could get Shawn out." He was crying freely now.

He could hear Maddie gasp and he continued, "He's dead, Maddie. Our son is _dead._"

They stayed on the phone for a while longer, both of them crying. Before they hung up Maddie promised to be on the next flight to Santa Barbara.

For the next hour Henry just sat in his living room, thinking about Shawn. About Maddie. About his entire family really, and how there was so much left unsaid between him and all of them. Things he should've said to Shawn that would never be said.

The whole time he sat there one thing ran like a mantra in the back of his mind. _It's all my fault..._

_**OOOOOOoooooOOOOOO**_

_**Again I'd like to say that I checked the hits and I noticed that I got lots of hits on this story but only 6 reviews. Why is that?**_

_**Be nice to my muse and REVIEW!**_


	3. Chapter 3: Gus

_**A/N: I'm not sure how well written this chapter is but I hope you like it anyway! I think I'll make adjustments to it, but I just needed to get it out there already. I've waited long enough. And I know you guys are sick of waiting.**_

_**Oh, and when you're done don't forget to review! More people are putting this on their alert list than reviewing so I'd like to change that. :-)**_

**_DISCLAIMER: I don't own Psych and that's a good thing, no matter how sad it is for me :C_**

**_SHOUT OUT: I'd like to thank everyone who reviewed this story! So THANK YOU! And a special thanks to dare-to-dream22 for reading all my stories and telling me what you thought of them!_**

_**ENJOY!**_

_**OOOOOOoooooOOOOOO**_

**Gus**

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It was all wrong.

Things like this just didn't happen.

Not to people like Shawn.

People like Shawn weren't supposed to die. It just didn't happen. Well, it hadn't until today. Suddenly Gus sees the whole thing over again in his mind: Juliet and Lassiter go into the warehouse and Gus can't see them anymore. There's yelling and then the detectives back out of the warehouse. They head for Chief Vick. The three of them talking and Gus is heading over to them. He wants to know why they don't have Shawn with them. Suddenly the whole damn warehouse is exploding and there's silence for a second. Then he remembers hearing desperate voices call out.

_Oh, _Gus thought as he sobbed uncontrollably, realizing something, _the desperate voice was mine. _I _was the one calling his name. _Gus fell into the nearest chair with a thud. He's not seeing anything in his apartment anymore. All he sees is images from earlier that day. Over and over again they race across his mind. Teasing him, taunting him, telling him he could've stopped it.

_If I hadn't gone to get that smoothie,_ He thinks for the millionth time since the explosion, _I could've stopped it. Then those guys couldn't have nabbed Shawn. I could've stopped it. _

He'd only just left the crime scene when he'd gotten a call from Juliet. She'd told him how two guys had shoved Shawn in their car and driven off. She'd said they were tailing the perps and then he'd asked where they were. She told him and soon enough Gus was a part of the chase as well. They'd been surprisingly close to the road Gus was taking to Sue's Sweet Smoothies.

He'd replayed those moments in his head a million times and he knew that wishing he'd done something different wasn't going to help. Gus stood and walked to his closet. He rummaged around in it for a while before finding the box he hid beneath shoes and other things he knew Shawn found boring. Gus had hid the box there years ago because he knew Shawn would laugh at him for keeping such things. He kept all of his childhood memories in this box and today was the first day he'd looked at it in years.

Gus sat on his perfectly made bed and opened the box carefully. As soon as he did he was assaulted with millions of memories. Good ones, bad ones, and all the ones in between.

He cleared away random trinkets and lanyards he'd made at Camp Tikihama, and there were _a lot _of those in the box. He pulled out one after another until he found what he was looking for. A photo album.

He inhaled deeply and let it out in a gust of breath, preparing for the onset of memories. He opened the album to the first page. It was filled with pictures of him and his family for the first few pages. Gus and his sister, Joy, playing. Gus and his entire family caught off guard while preparing for their family portrait. His mother had been captured checking if there was anything in her teeth, and his father was picking lint of his shirt, and Gus and Joy were arguing about who looked better.

Gus smiled, he liked this picture better than the actual portrait, but it wasn't what he really wanted to look at. He skipped past other family photos and his senior picture until he got to what he was looking for.

Gus closed his eyes, hoping to stall the tears that were likely to come when he saw the pictures, but it didn't work. They were already starting to slide out. He opened them and the first thing he saw was a picture of him and Shawn when they were seven. They were side by side at the end of a dock and both of them were grinning. The picture had been taken up at his family's cabin and it had been Gus's first trip there.

Gus felt a tear slip down his face and his eyes were clouded by them. He barely saw the other pictures as he flipped through the pages of the album, but he already knew what they were. Gus and Shawn, Gus and Shawn, Gus and Shawn.

He stopped at the most recent photo. It had been taken last year at the Psych office when Shawn decided to have a Pineapple Day celebration. Gus hadn't known if it really existed, but he hadn't cared. In the picture the two each had on a pineapple-shaped hat on and had a pineapple smoothie in one hand and their other arm was draped across the other person's shoulders.

The smoothies they were holding reminded Gus of why he was looking in this album. He was looking at this picture, at this moment he had taken for granted, because he'd never see his best friend again.

Shawn was gone. They'd never have another Pineapple Day celebration again. And it was all because Gus had decided to get a damn smoothie.

The album dropped to the floor as Gus let go of it and put his head in his hands. He should have stayed with him. He should have, but he didn't. The thought just made Gus cry harder than he had before and as he cried one thought pushed it's way into his head: _It's all my fault..._

_**OOOOOOoooooOOOOOO**_

**_Please review! Or you could send me a private message! You could even suggest stories you'd like to read! As long as it's not one of these ongoing ones that have like ten chapters._**

_**PS: Did you guys see Psych tonight? I loved the older versions of Shawn and Gus thing! At least that's what I thought they were**_


	4. Chapter 4: Lassiter

**_A/N: Here it is! The fourth chapter of this series! I'm not sure about this chapter though. The, ah, imagery might disturb some people. But Lassiter is an experienced detective so that's the stuff he sees! You Lassie fans (I'm one too if you're wondering, but I'm a Shules fan. I don't do Shassie) are really gonna hate me for what I'm doing to our favorite head detective! But what can I say? I'm evil that way!_**

**_DISCLAIMER: I don't own Lassie or Psych. Is that enough? It better be because this story is MINE! Steve Franks can't have it! But I don't think that either he or USA would want it..._**

**_I hope you enjoy it! Or, well, I hope you don't delete this off your favorites list because I'm so mean to the characters... Please review either way!_**

**_I really need comments on this chapter! And when I say need I mean NEED! It's a matter of life and death, well it is for a certain character I will not name._**

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**Lassiter**

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Carlton shrugged off his jacket and threw it on a hanger. He missed, but it was his home so he didn't bother to pick it up. He walked into his living room and sat on a chair. He was lost in his own thoughts and couldn't be bothered by trivial things such as hanging up his coat. Not after what just happened. What shouldn't have happened.

Carlton looked back on earlier that day, after they'd left the crime scene. No one had paid much attention to Spencer, and that had been the first mistake of many. They'd chased his captors to the abandoned warehouse. They hadn't thought that the two assholes had planned the whole thing. Carlton and the department had thought it was spur of the moment kind of stuff, and that had been their second mist

He and O'Hara had gone in, guns drawn, just as the perps were dragging the department psychic to the back of the warehouse. He'd already been forming a plan. Through the whole chase and the entrance into the warehouse. They'd been so close to a happy ending, and even though Carlton didn't believe in such things he longed for one.

When Spencer had told them to get out, that there was a bomb Carlton's first thought was that it was one of the kid's usual jokes, but then he'd seen the fear in his eyes and heard the seriousness in his voice. Carlton did the only thing he could do that wouldn't result in Spencer being shot. He'd followed the Chief's orders and gotten the hell out of there. And that was the worst and final mistake he made.

At least he'd gotten Juliet out safely.

He'd expected the criminals to make some silly demands that would never be met and release the psychic. Instead, just moments after they'd gotten out of the building, it lit up like a Christmas tree.

And that had been the worst thing he'd ever seen.

Not because it was sure going to be hell collecting the evidence, not to mention the bodies- Carlton had to stop that thought there. He was starting to see gruesome images of Spencer being torn apart by the explosion. Parts of him flying everywhere. Screams and burning. Carlton's breakfast almost came up, he couldn't think about it, but he'd seen too much in his life to completely stop the flow of images. He hoped, for Spencer's sake, that the blast had killed him instantly.

No. It had been the worst because it was someone he _knew. _

Carlton knew he'd always been, well, mean to Shawn, but he was like that with everybody. It had been a little worse with Spencer because of his overly enthusiastic response to everything and his childish nature, but Carlton had always been fond of him.

Fond wasn't the right word now that he thought about it. He had always secretly thought of Spencer as a friend. He trusted him. And Shawn had trusted Carlton.

And he'd let him down. After everything he's done for the department, for Carlton, he let him down.

Carlton let him _die._

Again Carlton saw body parts strewn across the blackened ground where the warehouse once stood. He shook his head violently, attempting to rid his mind of the grotesque images. Carlton felt a tear slide down his face.

A tear.

No, not a tear. _Tears. _

He was crying. For Spencer. The man, who Carlton had stated on many occasions, he supposedly couldn't stand. And while that was true on many occasions, the truth was that he liked having Spencer on his team. The kid was sharp. Carlton had convinced himself at some point that he was worth the trouble.

He continued to let the tears fall freely. Crying for the psychic seemed like the least Carlton could do for Spencer since he failed him. He failed someone that had trusted him without a doubt. Just like his partner had. And he'd let her down, too.

That part of Carlton's mind that loved seeing him suffer brought back the memory of her protests. He remembered how he'd restrained her from running into the burning warehouse, and the despair in her voice as she'd screamed for the man she no doubt had feelings for. Carlton saw it between them every day. The way Spencer looked at her, and the way she'd smile when she thought no one was looking. At least he had, until he'd taken it away.

He'd unwillingly put a stop to it. He hadn't known what he was putting an end to when he forced O'Hara out of the warehouse, but now he did.

The force of his sobs was shaking Carlton now. The psychic had died. And he'd taken so many things with him. The unbreakable bond from Guster, the potential love from O'Hara, all the strength and courage from his father, and so many things he'd brought into everyone else's life.

Spencer had taken all those things to the grave with him. No one would be the same. Carlton knew that without that bond Guster and Shawn shared the young man would be lost, and O'Hara would never trust her partner as she had before, she'd never let another man in her life, the Chief wouldn't trust her judgment when making a call like that, and that his father would most likely be reduced to almost nothing.

_ So, _Carlton thought, _what's going to happen to me? _He didn't know, and Carlton couldn't decide if that was better or worse than knowing.

What he _did _know was that his life would never be the same without the vibrant young man. He knew that he'd destroyed the trust his partner had in him. He knew that he'd destroyed a friendship between two men as close as brothers. He'd destroyed a father's life.

He knew all this like he knew that Spencer could've lived. If he'd just ignored the Chief he could've gotten Spencer out. If he'd listened to O'Hara and stayed in the warehouse they could've saved him. But he'd followed the damn protocol and left.

He'd left, and in doing so condemned a man to die.

He'd left Spencer in the clutches of two evil bastards and they'd killed him. Carlton stood abruptly and savagely punched a wall. His fist went right through the thin wall.

The assholes deserved to burn in hell. With that thought Carlton punched the wall again. Carlton's hand was bleeding, but he didn't care.

_He_, Carlton, deserved to burn in hell for what he did. Carlton hit the wall again, adding a third hole.

He'd let his _friend die._ He deserved the pain he was receiving now and more.

Carlton stopped hitting the wall and stared at the holes he'd made. They made him think of the holes that must be missing in his heart. There must be holes, because how else could he let a friend get killed? As he stared he thought only one thing: _It's all my fault..._

_**OOOOOOoooooOOOOOO**_


	5. Chapter 5: Chief Vick

_**A/N: Okay so it's been over a week since I posted the last chapter of this story, but only by a day! **_

_**I know a lot of you are looking forward to Juliet's chapter, but I had to write Vick's first because I have to ensure that you'll finish the story after the Jules chapter. Oh, man that one's gonna be so hard to write... I hope I write it well. Just like I hope I wrote this one well. I hope you guys like it, or like it as much as you can like a tragedy.**_

_**Speaking of tragedies... I need to know how many of you are reading this for a true tragic story or just because it's Psych and you welcome anything written, or almost anything. It really is very important. It will affect how I end the story.**_

**_DISCLAIMER: Yeah, yeah... I know I don't own Psych_**

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**Chief Vick**

_**OOOOOOoooooOOOOOO**_

Police Chief Karen Vick sat at her desk and watched her officers and detectives mill about the station. She realized belatedly that no one was doing any actual milling. Most people sat alone at their desks and stared, just like Karen was. Those were the people who'd been present at the... event... this morning. The others gathered in small groups and talked in hushed voices, discussing the harrowing event. Those were the people who'd either been on their way to the scene or the people who'd arrived after everything had been said and done.

After little had been said and nothing had been done.

Karen covered her face with her hands and thought. She thought about the things that had been left unsaid, and the things that hadn't been done. What she could've said this morning at the warehouse. What she could've _done_.

She could've told the kidnappers that she'd meet their demands if they gave up the psychic alive and relatively unharmed. She could've told her detectives to stay in there until the job was done. Until Shawn was safely out of the warehouse. Karen had no doubt that they could've done it. But she hadn't been willing to risk their lives. She hadn't thought that the two assholes who'd brought them to the warehouse would be stupid enough to blow it up right after her detectives had been called out of the damn deathtrap.

She'd watched it go up. She'd seen it as if it were a movie playing in slow motion. There'd been an almost physical force that came charging out of the warehouse, she'd felt it push her back a step. The warehouse had seemed to shudder because of it, and then it had erupted and everything was back in normal speed.

Karen hadn't known what to do. She'd stood there like a brainless idiot, just staring for a moment, her mouth hanging open. She had recovered her wits before the others did though, and she'd seen how they had taken everything in as it happened.

Karen had seen Gus first. Before the explosion he'd been marching towards her. She had seen the fury in his eyes, the disbelief that Lassiter and O'Hara hadn't brought his best friend with them when they emerged. Then it came.

She saw the way his eyes had popped open in shock. The shock soon replaced by fear, then despair, and finally denial. He'd called, no, _screamed _for his friend. The sound had torn her heart apart. It had been so horrible.

Then her Junior Detective had gone and ripped out the heart that was already damaged. Karen had watched as the detective had come out of the warehouse. Anger burning in her eyes. And then the warehouse was ripped apart in a catastrophic explosion. Karen saw how Juliet had tried to run into the flaming building. Saw how Carlton had grabbed her before she could make a desperate break for it. Karen knew how Juliet and Shawn had grown close over the years, and how they could've been so much more. And now they never would be.

Karen had relived these moments so many times in the past hours that she'd come up with a dozen different endings to that morning. A dozen _happier _endings. Ones that didn't end in flames and death.

Death.

That was the worst part about the whole thing. She had caused the death of one of their own. Had she not called the detectives out of the building Shawn might still be alive. They might have succeeded in rescuing him.

But she did call them out, and because of that Shawn Spencer had been dead for hours.

Suddenly it occurred to Karen, through a thick haze of guilt, that she didn't even know the names of the bastards that had detonated the warehouse. She sat up straight in her chair and looked down at the files on her desk. She barely remembered asking Buzz McNab to find out who the two were and if they had a record. McNab had done it and gone, but Karen hadn't been able to bring herself to look at the files of the men who had torn a hole in so many lives. Hers included.

Karen flipped open one of the files. She didn't bother looking at the criminal history or his background. She only looked at the name. Barry Cutler. Karen filed that away in her mind and opened the next file. Again she skimmed it and went straight to the name. Kyle Stevens.

A slight weight was lifted off her shoulders, but it still felt as if a heavy-weight wrestling champion was crushing her. Now that she knew the names she knew where put some of the blame. They weren't just faceless evils that had destroyed lives anymore. Now Karen could blame Barry Cutler and Kyle Stevens. She _could_, yet she _couldn't_.

She would never be able to blame them because she blamed herself. During the hours following the death of the psychic only one thought had been able to penetrate the haze that numbed her. One thought that never ceased it's incessant repeating in her mind. That thought was one she'd never be able to banish. That thought was: _It's all my fault..._

_**OOOOOOoooooOOOOOO**_

**_Don't forget to review! Reviews mean a lot to me and are always welcome :) Not to mention that the more I get the faster I post :D_**

**_Please let me know what you thought of this chapter and what you think of the whole story in general so far!_**


	6. Chapter 6: Juliet

_**A/N: I am so so sorry that I took like a month long hiatus without telling you guys! I just couldn't decide how I wanted to end the story so I just kinda procrastinated in posting this chapter. I hope you decide to forgive me and review :)**_

**_And don't worry! This isn't the last chapter... But I know you guys have really been looking forward to this one, and let me just say that this chapter is both the longest and the hardest chapter I've had to write so far. I'm very proud of it :)_**

**_So please show me your support for this story and REVIEW! There are so many of you who just put this on 'story alert' but don't review, and I'd really like to change that. I accept anonymous reviews too! At least I think I do... I'm pretty sure I changed the settings so I could..._**

**_I really hope you guys like this one. I was so nervous about posting it because I wanted to live up to your expectations.._**

**_I hope it does._**

**_ENJOY!_**

_**OOOOOOoooooOOOOOO**_

**Juliet**

_**OOOOOOoooooOOOOOO**_

_It's not true. It's not true. It's not true._

That was the probably the three-thousandth four-hundred-and-eighth time Juliet O'Hara had told herself that. Even though she'd been there and seen it with her own eyes she still couldn't believe it. She would _never _believe it; no matter how much time passed. The longer she denied it the longer she maintained a grip on her sanity. If she let go, if she believed what her eyes told her was true, then it would all be over. All the longing glances, the small smiles, and the lingering touches would be gone. Forever.

Shawn would be gone forever.

And Juliet couldn't take that. No. Not at all. It was all just too much. She could've saved him but she didn't, and now there was a body lying in autopsy and everyone told her it was Shawn's. _But it's not true, _Juliet told herself again, _they're lying. This is just some horrible joke. In a few minutes Shawn will come waltzing through the department doors and say something like "Hello my fellow crime-stoppers! It's me! Back from the dead!" and he'll laugh and everything will be okay. _Suddenly Juliet thought about Shawn's laughter; how wonderful and carefree it was. How Juliet wished she could just bottle it up and save it for a day when nothing goes right and she just needs to smile. Shawn had always been able to make her smile.

No. Shawn _still does _make her smile. Not 'had been'. He still could and as soon as this gruesome charade was over she knew that he would. He was still alive and Juliet knew it. How else could she herself still be living if he wasn't too? Juliet didn't think she could live without him. That would be like living without her heart, the heart that Shawn had stolen oh so long ago and hidden somewhere she would never be able to find.

Juliet vaulted up from her desk chair in the station and without much thought headed downstairs. Her feet knew exactly where they were taking her, but her mind needed some time to catch up. She thought about what she was doing, and when the realization slowly swept over her she nearly tripped over her own feet. She was heading downstairs...

Toward the morgue.

She couldn't think about it while she walked or she knew she would vomit. Her reasons for going there weren't normal. It wasn't normal that she was going there to see it the body was Shawn's. To see if there was any probable evidence to suggest he was alive. Any thoughts even remotely related to Shawn and death made her want to gag.

Juliet almost ran down the stairs to the morgue. She wanted to get there almost as much as she wanted to just get away from it. Soon enough she was standing in front of the doors that lead to the cold lab where the coroner did his work. She didn't want to go in there. She _couldn't _go in there. What if the coroner told her that Shawn was dead? That there was no way he could've survived the blast? What would she do? How would she live?

Juliet swallowed against her gag reflex and took a few long, faux-confident steps forward and pushed hard against the cold metal of the door. It swung open easily and then she was standing in the small space that was the morgue. She glanced around quickly but she didn't see anyone.

She was just about to give into the urge to run out of there when someone cleared their throat behind her, making her jump.

"Ah, hello, Detective O'Hara," Woody the creepy coroner said. Curiosity mixed in his voice along with traces of grief. "What do you need?"

"Um," Juliet was suddenly unsure of what to say. She'd spilled her suspicions of Shawn's survival to both the Chief and Lassiter, but they'd both just looked at her with pity in their eyes and walked away. She didn't know if Woody would be the same way.

The coroner's face softened with sympathy, "Oh... I understand. You want to know if I've ID'd the body yet." Juliet was startled, it was almost as if he'd read her mind.

Juliet nodded once, not speaking for fear that she would burst into tears. She couldn't let that happen. Not until she knew for sure. She laced her fingers together and waited anxiously for Woody to tell her what he knew. Wether it was good or bad Juliet knew she had to hear it.

"Well," the doctor said while moving further into the morgue, "I have confirmed the identity of this young man." He moved to stand beside one of the autopsy tables, a covered body lying still on it, and he motioned for her to join him.

Juliet took a hesitant step forward, wondering if it had been a smart decision to come here after all. Doubts were filling her mind. Poisoning her hope like an infection spreading through and tainting formerly healthy organs. The doubts plagued her and she barely heard Woody when he spoke to her.

"C'mon," he said, "he won't bite." The coroner gave an unnerving chuckle, but it was devoid of any humor. It was like he couldn't work up the emotion necessary to be his usual self. Juliet knew all too well what that felt like.

She walked over and stopped next to the coroner, but as soon as Woody made a move to uncover the body she stopped him, "Wait," she said, "I need you to answer something first."

He looked at her blankly, nothing at all in his gaze except the lingering sadness he seemed unable to permanently banish. She kept her hand on the edge of the sheet, careful not to actually touch the body underneath. Juliet took a deep breath, felt air that was tainted by the stench of death seep into her lungs and tried to speak, but instead she fell victim to a coughing fit. It seemed that a deep breath in a morgue was _not _the best idea for her at the moment.

The coughs racked her body for a minute or two while Woody awkwardly patted her on the back in what was supposed to be a comforting gesture but instead was just weird. But soon enough his hand was gone and Juliet was gasping for breath, wondering if this was some kind of warning that she shouldn't know who was underneath that sheet. And maybe she shouldn't. Could it be possible that she could live without knowing for just a few more hours? Until she could regain control of her newfound fear of the morgue. Juliet couldn't name exactly when it had surfaced, but she could say without a doubt that she definitely had a fear. A fear of knowing.

A fear of knowing that Shawn was really, and truly dead.

Dead and never coming back.

Juliet felt tears mist her eyes and she tried to hold them back. She really did, but in a matter of seconds they were falling quickly from her blue eyes. She wiped them away with the back of her hand in an attempt to keep Woody from seeing her break down, but they just kept coming. Falling steady like a heartbeat.

A heartbeat...

Juliet suddenly couldn't keep herself from thinking that Shawn didn't have a heartbeat anymore. He was dead and Juliet couldn't deny it anymore. They were in the same room after all. He was right next to her under that thin sheet. Blackened and burned to a crisp, but he was there.

Juliet couldn't stop the waves of emotion that were crashing through her, and they became too much. Her body pitched forward and she didn't try and stop herself from falling to her knees. She was in her own world now, away from the morgue and Shawn's body. But she still felt the presence of death and the weight of the guilt.

The guilt and the grief was suffocating her and Juliet couldn't breath. She gasped desperately for breath, but but the emotions just tightened their hold around her throat. She whimpered as her erratically-beating heart used up the last of the fresh oxygen in her lungs. Spots flew across her vision and when she blinked she could see that she was still in the morgue. Woody was crouched in front of her, panic had invaded his expression, he was saying something, but she could understand him.

Juliet clutched at her throat, but air still wasn't coming into her lungs. She could taste the stale air as it failed to exit her lungs and vacate the space for fresh air. The air in her mouth tasted like death and decay. It was disgusting and Juliet was desperately trying to rid herself of the grotesque feeling that she was choking on death, but it didn't work. She still couldn't breath.

Without the air that she so desperately trying to force through her airways her muscles went slack and the fight went out of her. She felt her body fall backwards and felt the pain radiate through her head when it smacked against the cold linoleum floor. It hurt, but she barely noticed after a moment because she was seeing something utterly impossible. The black spots were banished for the moment, and the person in front of her wasn't Woody the coroner.

It was Shawn.

He was stretching his hand out to her, and Juliet reached out to him even though she could scarcely believe he was real. He was supposed to be on the metal slab in the morgue, but instead he was here with her. Juliet looked around to find that "here" wasn't the morgue anymore, and she was standing up not lying on her back. She was in a field and Shawn was still reaching out to her, the look on his face was one of love and forgiveness. Juliet walked forward and took his hand and Shawn smiled, and that's when Juliet realized that he forgave her for leaving him behind. For allowing him die.

And with that thought the vision faded. Leaving the cloying scent of death in the air and a last image of Shawn's face. He was still smiling, and when he laughed Juliet decided that she had to chase after him. If only she had the strength... She was suddenly so tired of fighting...

Tired of fighting her emotions, the truth, and herself. Juliet let her eyes close and the last of her breath seep out of her, and then she sank into the darkness that was beckoning her...

_**OOOOOOoooooOOOOOO**_

Juliet breathed in deeply, savoring the sweet oxygen that flowed into her lungs. Her throat was sore, but that didn't stop her from taking deeper and deeper breaths. She attempted to open her eyes and she winced at the bright light hanging over her head and tried to move her hand to block it. She could feel someone shaking her arm. And Juliet found it extremely annoying.

"Mphmm..." She mumbled incoherently.

The shaking stopped and someone let out a breath of relief. This made Juliet wonder who was with her. She attempted to sit up, but someone gently pushed her back down.

"Take it easy, O'Hara," A familiar voice gently ordered.

"Shawn?" She asked.

"No," the voice was more constricted this time, but now Juliet recognized it.

She opened her eyes fully to take in the figure before her. One corner of his mouth jerked up in what he probably meant to be a comforting smile, but it was just a cruel mockery of one. His dark eyes seemed to have aged in the hours they hadn't seen each other, and his face had deeply etched lines of grief that hadn't been there before. His hair, too, seemed to have changed a bit. It had a new shock of gray in it that didn't belong there.

"I'm sorry, O'Hara," Carlton Lassiter said tightly, "but Spencer isn't coming back."

A new wave of tears threatened to spill over, but Juliet shoved the need to cry away. She'd do that later, but now she needed to know what happened.

"What happened? When did you get here?" Juliet looked around to see where "here" was exactly and found that she was still lying on the floor in the morgue. A shudder ran through her body and she sat up quickly, and she regretted instantly. Her head was spinning, and when she felt the back of her skull she found an egg-sized lump on it.

"You had a panic attack," Lassiter explained, thankful for the change of subject, "and I got here just after that. I was coming in to give the Chief my statement." As soon as he said that Juliet remembered clear as day what she was doing here. Why she had come down to the morgue in the first place.

This time when the tears came she couldn't stop them. She brought her knees up to her chest and curled into herself. Silent tears racked her body, "Oh God! He's dead! He's actually dead!"

The tears came harder and Juliet felt Lassiter put a hand on her shoulder and squeeze it gently, and that was when Juliet truly regretted blaming him for what happened. It so obviously wasn't his fault, but she'd been to emotional to see it. Now she knew the truth though.

His voice was tight with an emotion she couldn't name when he spoke, "You couldn't have done anything to change it, O'Hara."

"But I _could_ have!" She exclaimed, frustrated. Her head snapped up and she ignored the stinging pain that motion brought, "I could have saved him! That shouldn't be his body on that table!" She pointed angrily to the table beside her. The one with the body that she wasn't able to let be uncovered. She couldn't bear to see him that way.

"O'Hara," Lassiter said in confusion, "that's not Spencer's body."

Juliet blinked, "What?"

"We were only able to recover one body from the scene," Lassiter spoke as if she hadn't been there moment after agonizing moment, "and it's not Spencer's."

Lassiter must've seen the tiny shred of hope she allowed herself because he quickly said, "Don't get your hopes up. There's no way anyone could've survived that blast."

And just like that Juliet's hopes went down in flames. Flames like the ones that greedily licked at the warehouse after the fatal blast. Like the flames that surely burned Shawn's body.

Juliet put her elbows on her knees and then put her head in her hands. This was all just too much. There was too much going through her mind at the moment, but there was no way to stop the flow of thoughts.

_You did it. _A tiny little voice in Juliet's mind told her. She flinched as if she'd been poked with a hot poker.

"O'Hara?" Lassiter asked.

"I-I'm fine, Carlton," She stuttered as she moved to stand. He helped her up, looking at her suspiciously the entire time. "Really, I am." She attempted a smile, but judging by the look on Lassiter's face she must've failed miserably. He didn't say anything though, and Juliet was relieved that he didn't ask any questions.

"I just have to think for a while," Juliet said, and then added, "by myself."

Lassiter nodded like he understood, "I'll go." He moved away from her, but before he left the morgue completely he said, "But, O'Hara, if you need anything I'm here." Then he left.

Juliet was touched and more than a little moved that her partner cared enough to offer her comfort, but she knew she couldn't take it. She didn't deserve it and she knew that. She accepted it even.

_That's right, _Juliet's inner voice said to her, _You don't deserve any of it. _You _caused Shawn's death. _You _did it._

"No," Juliet said, shaking her head, "No..."

_Yes, yes you did, _the inner voice said snidely.

And Juliet couldn't deny it anymore. She _did _do it. She was the one to blame for Shawn's death. No one else. Just her. She could've stayed in the warehouse, but she didn't. Instead she hid behind the police barricade like the coward she was, and look what had happened. Shawn had _died. _

_No, _her inner voice said, _he didn't die. You _killed _him._

And her inner voice was right. She _had _killed Shawn. She had condemned him to an early death. Condemned him to be eaten away by the flames that had consumed the warehouse. Everything about him was gone, except the memories. They lived on. And they plagued Juliet at every moment. They were accusing her, and rightly so. They chanted the same thing in tune with her inner voice and her own thoughts. The same horrible line over and over. The phrase that would never quit echoing through her mind: _It's all my fault..._

_**OOOOOOoooooOOOOOO**_

_**So again, review! Please!**_

_**I really need to know if I wrote this one as good as I thought I did.**_

_**Oh, and the next chapter will be, I'm sorry to say, the last. And for all you McNab fans don't you worry! Buzz will most definitely be featured in the next chappie.**_

_**And I might be writing an alternate ending to this story called "Or is it?". So be on the lookout for that when I post the last chapter of this story. I don't want to give too much away, but let's just say that if you've been an optimistic person about this story you'll probably want to read the alternate ending and skip the real one.**_

**_So thank you to everyone who reviews! And everyone who just plain out reads this story! I appreciate it all!_**


	7. Chapter 7: Buzz McNab

_**A/N: I lied.**_

_**This is NOT the last chapter. 'Cause I still have the epilogue to post.**_

_**I worked pretty hard on this, and I sincerely hope it was worth the wait for you guys. The wait, I know, was far too long though. I'll do everything I can to keep it from happening again. Promise.**_

_**This is the longest chapter in the entire story, and I for one, am satisfied with how it turned out. I hope you are too.**_

_**PS: Be on the lookout for the alternate ending titled "Or Is It?"**_

_**ENJOY! :D even though it's a tragedy**_

_**OOOOOOoooooOOOOOO**_

**Buzz McNab**

_**OOOOOOoooooOOOOOO**_

Buzz McNab, for once dressed in street clothes instead of his usual uniform, walked down the boardwalk in the early evening not quite knowing how he'd gotten there. The horizon was a multitude of colors now, but mostly a beautiful orange. Buzz wasn't fooled by the bright colors though, because he knew that with each passing moment it faded. Dimming into darker and darker colors until finally it would reach black.

Black.

The color of death.

Of mourning.

It was also the color most of the SBPD, himself included, seemed to be sporting. The only employees who didn't wear black either hadn't known Shawn Spencer well, or they were forced by strict, unyielding rules to remain in a uniform of some sort. Those who were required to wear a uniform still displayed their grieving state in a more subtle way such as wearing a black wristband, or other black jewelry. Some of the female employees even painted their nails black. Even some of the criminals in the holding cells had offered their condolences.

As Buzz thought about all this, he couldn't stop thoughts of _why _these people were acting like this to surface. Though he'd already thought about it numerous times since this morning, it always came back fresh, like it had just happened. Each time it came back, it stung just a little bit more than the last time. This time was no different.

A familiar feeling of helplessness came over him, stronger than before, as the scene played out in his mind, and suddenly he was seeing it happen all over again...

_**OOOOOOoooooOOOOOO**_

**Flashback: The Warehouse**

_**OOOOOOoooooOOOOOO**_

_ Buzz watched as Detective Lassiter and his partner, Detective O'Hara, walked out of the warehouse, guns drawn and scowls on their faces. Confusion written all over Buzz's face, he noted the fury in his colleagues' eyes and the fact that Shawn wasn't with them. He glanced at Chief Vick; her face was serious, and her lips were pressed into a thin line of determination._

_ Then he caught sight of Shawn's partner and best friend, Gus, who looked just as confused as Buzz felt. He saw Gus begin to march over to where the two detectives and thier superior now stood, but before he got more than a meter from where he'd been standing, a deafening noise came inside the warehouse. Buzz spun around to find the warehouse was suddenly enveloped in the harsh embrace of fire. He felt panic seize him, and, for a moment, he forgot who he was, where he was, all he knew was that the lot had just exploded with his friend still inside it._

_ Then Buzz regained control, he whirled around and started sprinting towards the Chief, but he stopped short when his mind finally processed the scene before him._

_ The Chief looked stunned. She did nothing but stare at the mass of writhing flames. There was a grim truth in her stare though, and it made buzz uneasy. Because the truth, the resigned acceptance hiding in her eyes told him that she'd known, on some level, maybe not consciously, that this would happen. That someone would die. Then she shook her head, as if she she was thinking the same thing, and rid herself of the horrible notion that she'd known it would happen._

_ Next he saw the detectives, his colleagues. Juliet screamed something and tried to run into the warehouse, probably thinking she could still save him, but Lassiter quickly lunged for her and was restraining her in seconds. She struggled for a while, but soon gave in to despair. She turned around and wept into Lassiter's chest. He stood there stoically, taking it all in but letting nothing out. The only outward sign of whatever he was feeling were the deeply etched lines around his mouth and on his forehead._

_ Gus was the next person to capture the rookie's horrified fascination. For a moment, it was almost like the dark man had missed what happened, but soon there was an awful shout of, "SHAWN!" Buzz could almost see all the professional walls the man had built just being torn down, completely obliterated, and there was nothing anyone could do. Not anymore. Gus seemed to realize this when he whispered something Buzz could hear and, tears streaming down his face and reflecting the light from the morning sun, dropped down to his knees like they just couldn't support him anymore. He stared at what used to be the warehouse in horror, never blinking, until the weight of Buzz's gaze finally caught his attention. They locked eyes, neither moving, both grieving. It was then, as he and Gus were watching one another, that Buzz could've sworn he heard a whispered voice say into his ear, "Help them. Don't let them destroy each other... or themselves..."_

_**OOOOOOoooooOOOOOO**_

**Present Time: The Boardwalk**

_**OOOOOOoooooOOOOOO**_

"Help them," Buzz repeated softly. He couldn't get those words out of his head. He knew it was irrational to believe that Shawn had spoken to him from beyond the grave, but everywhere he'd looked since then, there'd been a... a sign. At the station when he was giving the Chief his statement he'd glimpsed a pineapple on her desk, unbeknownst to her at the moment, and for a second, just a tiny fraction of time, he heard the voice again. Shawn Spencer's voice.

And he was saying, "_You've gotta do it. There's no one else but you. They need help. Just look at Vick. She's tearing herself apart! Next thing ya know they'll be injuring themselves..."_

Buzz had dismissed it with a shake of his head and a quick pinch of the skin on his arm. Shawn wasn't really contacting him from the ether. It just wasn't possible. Shawn wasn't here to say anything. He was _dead _for Pete's sake!

But sure enough, just as he was leaving Vick's office and thinking these thoughts, he noticed Lassiter walk by, heading to his desk. He was obviously deep in thought, because when Buzz tried to talk to him Lassiter seemed not to hear him, though that _did _seem to be happening quite often these days. Then Buzz noticed something odd. Something that triggered a memory...

"_Next thing ya know they'll be injuring themselves", _Buzz quoted mentally. And sure enough wrapped around the Head Detective's hand was a gauze bandage concealing an injury of some sort, but Buzz knew for a fact that Detective Lassiter had received no injuries at the scene or at the station.

It was all too weird, too coincidental. So when Buzz just happened upon the Psych office, he took it as another sign. He was supposed to do something, and soon too. Because at the rate things were going, bad things could happen in the blink of an eye. One after another.

He hesitated for only a moment before walking up to the door and pushing it open, there was a light ringing as it opened and Buzz was soon standing in an unfamiliar surrounding. He'd never been inside Psych before, he wasn't sure why, but he'd just never had a reason to. Technically, he still didn't.

He made his way through the area where the clients waited, his gut telling him to keep going. Then, he was standing in the actual office portion of the office. Two desks faced each other. One neat, and one unbelievably messy. He knew which desk belonged to who, and proceeded over to peer at the contents haphazardly discarded atop the cluttered desk.

A pineapple, a yo-yo, a handmade clay fish, and a snow globe were what stood out to Buzz. He reached for the snow globe, not sure why, and looked at it from various different angles. He was just about to put it back when he looked at the bottom and noticed something.

It was a green Post-It note. Buzz peeled it off the snow globe and read what was written on it:

_To: Lassie_

_ Surprise! It's national 'Appreciate Your Local Lassie' day!_

_ Okay, it isn't really, but what if it was? Anyway, I got you this snow globe because thought you could do with something to make that frown turn upside down! 'Cause guess what? It's you and me in the snow globe! 'Cause I always make people smile._

_ From: Shawn_

_ PS: Is snow globe 1 word or 2?_

_ PPS: You owe me 1 snowglobe._

_ PPPS: Nah, I think it's 1 word. It looks more right. Right-er?_

Buzz laughed as he finished reading the note. Then he checked the snow globe and saw that it really was Shawn and Lassiter inside it. They stood next to eachother, Lassiter with a pair of cuffs and his signature scowl, and Shawn with a smile on his face and a pineapple grasped in his hands. He wondered how Shawn managed to get a snow globe so customized. The little Lassiter in it even had a mini badge!

He set the snow globe aside when something a much less interesting caught his notice. A blue spiral-bound notebook sat under the pineapple. Buzz wasn't sure what made him notice it, but he picked it up anyway. There was nothing on the cover or first few pages that indicated what it might be, but as he flipped another page he saw a warning.

**Warning!**

**You are now entering the thoughts of Shawn Spencer!**

**Be prepared to have your mind blown and your socks rocked!**

There were little things of no importance written there, such as a note scrawled in the upper right corner that said:

_Number of times I threw paper balls at Gus's head- 132_

_ Number of times he ignored me- 100_

_ Number of times he told me to stop- 5_

_ Number of times he threw something back- 27_

_ Mission accomplished._

And then there were entries like in a journal. They were usually of a more serious nature, as Buzz later discovered, then what the department thought the psychic capable of. One of such entries went like:

_October 18th, 2010_

_Today was rough. A double murder, a mother and a daughter killed in their apartment, and their killer still hasn't been caught._

_But that's not the worst._

_Lassie thought the estranged father was to blame. The man was angry at his wife for taking sole custody of their kid. Lassie thought the man came in through the glass sliding door, but I noticed I some black scuff marks on the second story porch. And I don't think the husband did it. He was too distraught, too confused, when we brought him in for questioning. He wasn't wearing his wedding ring either; he'd moved on._

_I thought that the building manager had done it. Me and Gus snuck into his office earlier and we found an entire scrapbook devoted to the mother. It was really creepy. He took pictures of her everywhere, all the time. In the lobby, at the grocery store, even picking her daughter up from school. Not to mention that he had scratches on his arm, he tried to cover them up when we interviewed him, but I saw them. The mother had unidentified blood under her fingernails._

_It all seemed to fit._

_I convinced Jules to check him out. _

_They arrested him._

_But I was wrong. He didn't do it._

_And it's killing me._

_There isn't anyone else. NO ONE. Nobody was around, nobody had motive. The manager might not have done it, but I still think he's involved. Somehow._

_And I'm gonna figure it out._

Buzz remembered that case. It was a while back, but still fresh in his mind. They'd gotten the guy. It had been the next door neighbor. He'd had a history of assault charges and sex crimes in his background, and he'd become fixated with Marie Hill, the mother, and when he'd discovered that the building manager, Ernie something-or-other, shared his fantasies, they'd teamed up. Ernie hadn't actually done the killing, but he _had _been involved. So Shawn had been proven right after all.

He flipped a few more pages until he came upon a particularly intriguing page. He laughed suddenly when he finished. Shawn, it appeared, had already written Gus's eulogy, saying he was survived by his cats and best friend. Buzz's laughter stopped short when he remembered that Shawn _wouldn't _surviving his best friend and speaking this eulogy. His was a life snuffed out far too quickly.

Buzz continued reading, but now the atmosphere had a somber feel to it. He suspected this feeling would last for a while, longer than anyone of them was accustomed to. He skimmed the pages until one in particular caught his eye. He gasped slightly (slightly because Detective Lassiter had told him cops are never shocked) when he saw what was on the page. It only reinforced Buzz's continued faith that Shawn really was a psychic.

The page read:

_To whom it may concern (I've always wanted to start a letter like this):_

_ For the record, this was written by the hand of Shawn Spencer at 10:19 PM on December 25th, 2010._

_ After the holiday, I realized that in this line of work, even though I'm not a cop, something bad could happen any day. I could get kidnapped, shot, or even blown up, no matter how unlikely it sounds. And I just want to leave the people closest to me with a sense of closure, because I see too often what the families of murder victims are feeling. I don't want to leave people feeling like that._

_ So, I guess I'll start with my dad._

_ Dear, Dad_

_ I know you and I never got along. We were like fire and ice (PS: I want to be fire. It's way cooler.), cats and dogs, pineapples and, in your case, prunes. I can't say I regret everything I've done, mostly because I can't remember half of those things, but I want you to know that I regret the way I left things between us._

_ I wish I could fix it all, though. Take back the horrible things I said, and undo all the stupid things I did. I can't, and we both know it. But I wanted to say that I always did look up to you. When I was a kid you were my biggest hero. You still are sometimes (Only sometimes!). And I wanted to tell you that I love you._

_ I hope you never have to read this._

_ -Shawn_

After reading it, Buzz noticed a trail of wetness on his cheek. He wiped it away and closed the notebook before he read the next entry, which was addressed to Gus. He didn't think he could take reading anymore. After all, it wasn't for him to see.

That's when he realized what he had to do. He glanced out the large window, the sun was nearly gone. In about an hour it would be completely dark. He still had time though, he doubted anyone would be sleeping tonight.

Buzz picked up the notebook and the snow globe and headed out, knowing that the voice, Shawn's voice, in his head had been leading him to the office all along.

_**OOOOOOoooooOOOOOO**_

Through the course of the next hour Buzz drove all over Santa Barbara. First stop was Henry Spencer's house. He'd pulled up in front of the house and quickly walked up the sidewalk leading up to the door, all the while looking much more confident then he felt.

He rang the doorbell twice, only a little bit impatient, and soon a gaunt-looking Henry Spencer opened the door. His eyes appear sunken and he had dark grey bags underneath them, add that to the slightly hunched stature and even more bald head and you get half the man he used to be.

Buzz cleared his throat nervously, suddenly doubting if this would help at all. It could just make it worse, or Henry could kick him off his property.

Then Buzz shook his head. Doubting himself wouldn't help things now. He cleared is throat yet again and said, "Ah, sir, I'm Officer McNab, SBPD."

Henry didn't flinch, didn't turn away, he just stared at the young officer, "So?"

"Um, well," Buzz began, "I, ah, found something of Shawn's today and-"

"Shawn?" Henry interjected, suddenly standing straighter, taller.

"Uh, yeah," Buzz answered, "it's a notebook. There's a, um, a..." Buzz then got frustrated with himself, "Just read it," he said, opening the notebook to the letter for Henry.

He watched as the elder Spencer read it, and watched as the man broke down and cried. Henry Spencer's walls were diminished, nothing more than dust. Buzz reached out hesitantly and put a hand on his shoulder. The older man just looked at him, nothing more. Because nothing needed to be said. They both understood the gesture.

Henry nodded and Buzz offered a small smile. Buzz then turned around and started walking back to his car, but before he got in it he spared a glance back at Henry. He saw the man reading it over and over again, treasuring the last thing left by his son. Buzz opened his car door and smiled, knowing he'd helped the man, even if it was just a small bit of comfort, and he knew that Henry would pass on the letter to those who still had yet to read it.

And at that moment, for the last time, Shawn's voice spoke yet again in his head, _"Thank you, McNab. You don't know what you've done for him. Just don't forget the others. You promised to help, after all..."_

Buzz nodded to himself, though he knew he'd never verbally promised anything. It was a promise he would keep to a friend though. And Buzz always kept his promises.

_**OOOOOOoooooOOOOOO**_

Throughout the rest of the night as the sky darkened to black, Buzz McNab drove to his friends' and colleagues' houses. He offered condolences and shared in their grief.

When he got to Lassiter's house, the detective was mostly silent, but he was grateful for a voice of reason in this turbulent time. The detective knew he couldn't keep everything going all by himself.

When he reached the Chief, she was thankful. She needed someone to assure her that she did what she could to keep as many people as possible alive.

When he arrived at Juliet's home, she was tearful, but no less appreciative. She cried a bit, and Buzz offered to bring over some of Francine's homemade chocolate chip muffins as comfort food. The young woman refused of course, saying that he was grieving too, but Buzz knew Francine would do it anyway.

He got to Gus's apartment just before the moment of absolute darkness. Shawn's best friend cried more than Juliet had, and again Buzz offered to bring over some muffins. Unlike Juliet though, Gus accepted, he even asked for Buzz and Francine to come over and stay a while, too. The rookie knew that Gus needed the comfort, and the presence of familiar, friendly faces.

By doing this, Buzz McNab eased their guilt-ridden minds, and comforted their sorrowed hearts. He made sure that they no longer thought that Shawn's untimely death was all their fault, but rather the fault of the actual people to blame. They now put that particular feeling on the shoulders of Barry Cutler and Kyle Stevens, at least _most_ of the blame was pointed in their directions. Sure, the guilt wasn't completely gone, and their grief would stay with them through life, but it would be easier to bear, and they'd have each other to lean on. They would heal in time, and that was the most important thing.

_**OOOOOOoooooOOOOOO**_

_**Well? Tell me what you think! I'd like to know your favorite chapters, lines, moments, or favorite anything! Please let me know!**_

_**Oh, and I tried to keep the signature slightly immature humor of Psych into this story, it was getting a little too angst-y. **_

_**Up next: The final chapter. The... Epilogue!**_


	8. Chapter 8: Epilogue

**_A/N: Oh, my gosh... I actually did it... I have FINALLY posted the epilogue!_**

**_I hope it was worth the wait, I really do! I worked hard on it, and I reallyREALLY hope you all like it!_**

**_See the A/N at the end for further notes, please :)_**

**_And now, please allow me to direct your attention to the heading just below, and enjoy the Epilogue of "It's All My Fault"..._**

**_OOOOOOoooooOOOOOO_**

**Epilogue**

**_OOOOOOoooooOOOOOO_**

"_The fear of death follows from the fear of life. A man who lives fully is prepared to die at any time."_

_~Mark Twain_

They held the funeral a week after the police had finished tying up all the loose ends pertaining to the warehouse explosion and Shawn's subsequent death. It was a very somber, tearful occasion to say the least, and there was more people than any of them could have expected.

The first to arrive was the family of course, followed by Gus, Juliet, Lassiter and then the rest of the SBPD, including McNab and Vick. That wasn't the strange bit about Shawn's funeral though; the strange bit was the rest of the people.

First it was just a few of Psych's recent clients, and then it was others from before. From when Psych was just starting out and Gus was still trying to get out of it. Then Robert showed up, or rather, the woman who used to be Robert. She went by Regina now, and made a beeline for Gus as soon as she arrived. He didn't turn down her offer of a hug; he was so lost in his own grief.

Then, a businesswoman arrived. She introduced herself to the group of mourners as a representative from the museum Shawn and Gus had donated the dinosaur skull to. She had been sent by the board of directors at the museum to express their most sincere condolences. On a more genuine note, she added, "I know what Mr. Spencer did for a living. He was a hero. We won't forget that."

Next, there was a flood of people neither the family, Gus, or the detectives had seen in years. The kids from Meitner came, though they were no longer the scrawny little boys from before. Gus's parents arrived, no shock there, as did Joy, whose eyes were red from crying. The men from the Lodge came to offer their support and condolences to Henry, and to mourn their youngest member. Barbara, Vick's older sister, showed up, which was weird but the Chief accepted her somewhat-estranged sister's support without hesitation. Morgan, the arson inspector (who had been promoted to lead investigator), came too. The last of that wave of people to arrive were Ryan Bainsworth, the compulsive liar Shawn and Gus had proved to be innocent, and Jason, the two's childhood friend from Camp Tikihama.

Then came the second wave of people. The group watched as the Sheriff from Old Sonora came, pulling Lassiter into a hug. And they also saw men and women such as Raj Singh and his wife Mina, Stewart Gimbley, who seemed to no longer believe he was a werewolf, and his sister, the remaining members of Gus's a cappella group, Abigail Lytar, who was simply heartbroken upon hearing the news, and even Shawn's one-time date Gina. And still even more people showed up as the day wore on.

Even through their grief, the mourners were shocked at just how many people arrived to the somber occasion. They watched as acquaintances from years past showed up, each one with a heartfelt proclamation of their condolences. Even more surprising was that each person, whether they were old or young, friend or stranger, claimed to have been helped or aided by Shawn in some way.

The funeral progressed, and though it was just that -a _funeral_- the tense atmosphere had diminished somewhat. Not enough to be "lighthearted" perhaps, but it wasn't a suffocating mass of despair any longer. Now that they were surrounded by people who had cared for Shawn, or even those who felt they owed the deceased a debt, they were forced to look at Shawn's life for what it was. _Living._

They realized, through speeches from Henry, Gus and even Lassiter, that Shawn hadn't just been alive all these years. He'd been _living. _"He lived life to the fullest," Henry said in his speech, "but he didn't stop there."

Gus told the people, "Shawn was the person you looked up to, whether you wanted to or not, just because he was so charismatic. He wasn't frivolous, no, he was just milking life for all it was worth."

When Lassiter's turn came, he said, "Spencer -_Shawn_- was a pain in the ass sometimes, but I've learned that he acted the way he did because when he saw what you needed, he'd try to help you get it. No matter the price he might pay. For him, it was a natural part of life to help others."

Each speech had one thing in common: Shawn Spencer had been so much more than the carefree player everyone thought him to be. In his own way, he really had been a hero.

For a while, after the funeral, the group of people closest to Shawn had stuck together like the person next to them was the only thing anchoring them to the world. But as the days went by, they grew apart from each other.

Lassiter and Juliet remained partners, but they weren't willing to be much more anymore. For Lassiter, it was that he now feared their tentative friendship; because of the possibility of failing her once again, or worse, losing her for good. And for Juliet, the fact of the matter was that she hadn't been willing to trust herself, or anyone else, in her line of work anymore.

Henry and his family remained estranged, Shawn's death having brought them together for a short time, but his absence having torn them apart even more. He had been the glue that bound them together, and with him gone, there was nothing to keep them from going their separate ways.

Gus retreated to his family; Shawn had been his best friend, and he hadn't had many others. After all, why would one need a circle of not-so-close friends when one had someone like Shawn? The young man no longer ventured outside his comfort zone, or to the Henry's or the SBPD. Since Shawn died, he'd had no reason to go anywhere but to his parents' house. He hadn't even gone back to the Psych office; he couldn't bear to see it.

Vick became a mechanical Chief of Police. She didn't chat with her officers, as she had begun to just months before the explosion. She didn't take a detective's word without proof, as she had done with Shawn and Gus. It was impossible for Vick to trust a hunch, be it hers or another's, without memories of her worst mistake resurfacing.

On the other hand, McNab couldn't bear to see these people abandon each other in their time of need. He felt the only way to honor Shawn's memory was to bring them together. And he did just that.

Three weeks after the funeral, McNab finally got them together. It had taken a lot of planning and, unfortunately, manipulating, but he had done it. And he knew it was for the greater good.

By getting this group of people together, he was able to get them to finally admit how they felt. They learned that each person in the room had blamed themselves in one way or another, and as they rushed to comfort that person, they realized just how ridiculous it was that they'd felt the same way. They now knew that they weren't to blame, and neither was anyone else, except for Barry Cutler and Kyle Stevens, of course.

Then Henry had pulled out Shawn's blue notebook. Unlike what McNab had originally thought, the man had kept it, having not been able to bear the thought of giving it up. Now though, Henry saw that the others were as much in need of it as he was.

So he passed it along, and one by one, they each read the letter addressed to them. Of course Shawn had taken the time to write each one personally, though no one would've expected it of him. Apparently, he hadn't been able to bear the thought of leaving anyone without closure.

They read their private letters in silence, but the rest of the notebook was read aloud. They shared Shawn's experiences, be they good, bad, or just random. And soon, the six of them were sharing stories about the fallen man. Then, they were laughing.

Even from beyond the grave Shawn managed to bring happiness to his friends and loved ones.

And so their lives progressed, and the months, then years went by. Lassiter and Juliet grew close, but not in a romantic way. They remained partners for years to come, both remembering the man that had inadvertently brought them to this time and place.

Henry and Maddie often sought consolation from each other. And when Shawn's birthday came around, the entire family, including Jack, would get together and remember him. Soon enough, Shawn's parents were living together, helping one another day by day.

Gus kept Psych up and running for another two years before he decided to close it down. Though he did it with no small amount of regret and hesitation. He had simply realized that it had been a dream he had shared with another person, and without that person, he couldn't achieve that dream. So he focused on work for a while, and through work he met the woman he would then marry. At their wedding, Henry, Lassiter, Juliet, and even McNab and Vick were in attendance, just as they were for the birth of Gus's first son. A son they named William Shawn Guster.

Chief Vick remained the Chief until the day she retired. The police force, especially Lassiter and Juliet were sad to see her go, but she promised to remain in contact. Which she did, and the detectives enjoyed receiving the postcards she sent from various places around the world.

McNab was eventually promoted to detective, and was overjoyed to know that the cop to be his mentor was Lassiter. He was a good detective, and to his wife's relief, never lost his smile or sense of humor. He had learned, from Shawn, not Lassiter, that you couldn't let the happy part of you die, or else all hope was lost. Also, he and Gus grew to be close friends; though not as close as Gus and Shawn had been.

And though they would never forget Shawn, they moved on. They would remember and reminisce together, and they each strived to be the person Shawn would be proud to know. Through his too short of a life and his too sudden death, they learned how to really _live, _all in honor of Shawn Spencer.

**_OOOOOOoooooOOOOOO_**

**FIN**

**_OOOOOOoooooOOOOOO_**

**_Wow. It's over... I can't believe it..._**

**_Let me just thank each and every one of you that has stuck with this story to the end! It's been an amazing journey, and I'm so glad I got to do it. And I'm unbelievably thankful to all of you! Whether you're a reviewer, favorite-er, subscriber, or just a silent reader!_**

**_Now, for the best part: I have decided that if I get a good enough response on this chapter that I just might post bonus chapters! Those bonuses would be the following: Shawn's letters to Vick, Lassie, Gus, and finally, Juliet. In that order too, 'cause that's how it was in the story :)_**

**_PS: Follow me on Twitter if you have questions, prompts, or if y'all just wanna chat. My account is YRM_22 :)_**

**_PPS: PLEASEPLEASEPLEASE! Let me know what you thought of this chapter/the whole story! I'm really nervous about ending it, and I want to know if I did a good job and justice to the characters._**

**_PPPS: Have a FABULOUS weekend! And don't forget about the Psych premiere on Oct. 12th!_**


	9. BONUS: Dear, Chief

_**A/N: Hey guys! Here's the first bonus chapter as a thank you to everyone who reviewed, subscribed or favorited this story! Y'all know you're awesome, right?**_

_**So, the bonus chapters will be significantly shorter than the real chapters. This one is long because I needed to introduce the situation and such. And, the muse just wouldn't leave me alone!**_

_**I hope you enjoy!**_

_**OOOOOOoooooOOOOOO**_

**BONUS: _Dear,__Chief_**

_**OOOOOOoooooOOOOOO**_

Karen Vick had been the Chief of the Santa Barbara Police Department for quite a few years now, but she still couldn't figure out why Officer McNab had insisted she come visit him. After all, in a time of grief, wasn't it best to just leave someone alone? Didn't McNab get that? Wasn't he grieving, too?

All she wanted was to be left alone, to wallow in her misery in relative silence. After all, she did have a child to look after; one that wouldn't stop bugging her about why she was so moody until Karen actually snapped at her to go away. She could hardly believe she had yelled at her own daughter, and the guilt from that just proceeded to add to the already tremendous guilt she felt over Shawn's death.

As she walked up the sidewalk leading to McNab's front door, she shook her head vigorously to rid herself of the lingering emotions. It was hard though, seeing as how she'd come straight from visiting Spencer's grave.

In the three weeks since they'd buried him -although, technically, they hadn't really buried him at all; they hadn't been able to recover his body- , she still felt the need to atone for her rash decision. So, to show whatever remnant of the late psychic how she felt, she had been laying fresh flowers on his grave -again, it wasn't really a grave, but more of a memorial plaque- ever since he'd "been put to rest".

Soon, Karen found herself standing in front of McNab's front door, as if staring at the peephole would allow her to see inside. She managed to raise a fist, which was shaking only slightly, to knock on the door. Then she quickly clasped her hands in front of her to hide the trembling.

She couldn't quite say why her hands were shaking so badly. It had started happening the morning after the warehouse explosion. She thought that maybe she feared that any decision she made would set off another explosion, which would lead to yet another tragedy.

Suddenly, the door was pulled open, and Karen was staring at the face of a young brunette. The woman, who Karen assumed was McNab's wife, Francine, smiled and ushered her inside. She even took Karen's coat for her and hung it in the hall closet. It seemed she'd be there for a while.

The house was quaint and had a nice, homey feel to it. There were pictures everywhere Karen looked. Pictures of smiling friends, family reunions, and even one of the cat. Karen couldn't help but smile as she took in her new surroundings.

Francine led her into a room Karen took to be the living room. Looking around, she was shocked to see familiar faces already present.

Ignoring Karen's slack-jawed expression, Francine led her to a plush chair in the corner, which appeared to be the last open seat in what was a circle of confused faces.

"McNab," Karen began as she processed the sight of Lassiter, O'Hara, Henry Spencer, and Burton Guster all in the same vicinity for the first time since the funeral. "Would you care to explain what's going on here?"

The rookie officer smiled, albeit nervously, and addressed the entire group: "Look, I know how you all feel about..." He paused, looking for an acceptable term, "About what happened, and I... I just want to help you all understand that it _wasn__'__t__your__fault._" Then the young man leaned back, allowing his wife to wrap her arms around his neck from behind, and letting the group of former kind-of-friends-turned-awkward-acquaintances to think about what he'd just said.

His last words had been spoken so forcefully, Karen hadn't thought he'd had it in him. But as she thought about how he'd gotten allof them to show up and actually _listen_to him, she was forced to reevaluate the man beside her. Perhaps he'd make a good detective after all.

Then, out of nowhere, they all blurted out something or other. Karen hardly noticed what they'd said, because in truth, she'd been to preoccupied with what she herself had been about to say. It seemed, she thought, watching the others look at the people around them with something close to hope, they'd all been thinking the same thing.

And so the confessions began... Or rather _almost_began. They were all just about to blurt out some sort of guilt-laden thought, when Henry said, "Stop."

Immediately, all attention was focused on the eldest man in the room. And not just because his voice rang with authority, but because he had sounded just like his son in that one moment.

Seeming to realize this, he awkwardly cleared his throat. Avoiding eye contact with everyone, he reached behind him and into a bag. Karen cocked her head to the side, more than a little curious to know what he was doing, and was confused when she saw what it was.

It was a simple, blue spiral-bound notebook. She noticed the writing scrawled in the upper right hand corner of the cover; it read _Shawn__Spencer_in messy handwriting. And of course, it was wide rule.

Glancing back at McNab, expecting an explanation of some sort, she saw that his eyes had gone misty. But, after he'd blinked a few times, it was gone.

Karen was more curious than ever. McNab had recognized the notebook. He knew what it was, and probably what was inside it, too. But the reaction he'd displayed, it told a story of sorrow.

"Officer McNab," Henry began, absentmindedly picking at the wire that held the notebook together, "came to my house that night." Henry didn't need to clarify which night he meant. There was only one 'that night' any of them could think of.

"He told me the same thing," Henry continued. "That it wasn't my fault. I didn't believe him at first," He admitted, "but then he showed me this." Henry held up the notebook so they could see it.

"I think that all of you need to have a look at it," he told them before he handed it over to Karen.

At first, she could only stare at it, trepidation in her eyes. But then she reached out to take it, making eye contact with Henry as she did so. She saw a deep grief in his eyes, and felt guiltier than ever for the pain she had caused.

"I marked the page," Henry told her. He didn't say what the page was, but Karen would find out soon enough.

She quickly found the marked page, and then she began to read...

_**OOOOOOoooooOOOOOO**_

_ Dear, Chief Vick_

_ If you're reading this, then I must be dead. But there are a few things I'd like to say before you all forget about the psychic detective you once knew. _

_ I know I'm not a real cop, I never thought I was, but if I die in the line of duty I need you to know this: It was my choice._

_ I choose to put myself in danger, and I never regret it. Not ever. My dad might think I'm being reckless, or stupid, but I know you trust my decisions. I know this because, case after case, you hire me again. And I know you wouldn't do that if you didn't think I could handle it._

_ But if I can't, well, I want you to know that it was my fault. Nobody else's, especially not yours. (After all, since when does Shawn Spencer listen to anybody? Probably never, that's when.)_

_ Your decision to let me do what I do, to put me out there, gave me a chance to do something worthwhile. It didn't kill me (unless you, like, stabbed me or something, then you killed me; but I don't think you'd do that [unless I REALLY pissed you off or something]), and it sure as hell didn't force me to do whatever it is that I did._

_ So, I wanted to say thank you for giving me a purpose in life. In the time I was on this Earth (If I really am dead, and you really are reading this), I got to help people. And that makes whatever sacrifice I made (because how else am I supposed to die? I am NOT slipping in the tub and hitting my head. No way.) worth it._

_ Don't blame yourself, Chief. I wouldn't have wanted to live my life any other way._

_ -Shawn Spencer_

_**OOOOOOoooooOOOOO**_

_**So, I realize the letter to Vick was longer than the letter to Henry, but I felt infinitely more inspired while writing this than I did writing Henry's letter.**_

_**I hope I didn't disappoint you, and I hope you thought this was worth reading!**_

_**I can't say when the next one will be out, but you already know It's gonna be Lassie's letter!**_

_**PS: I tried my hardest to make the letter somewhat humorous. Because, after all, it was Shawn who was writing the letter.**_

_**And lastly, please review! I'll try to get back to you if you have questions or even if you say jsoidnfnodisjhfdknfld, but I make no promises! (Because I'm really bad at keeping them ;P)**_

_**PPS: I know you'll wonder, so don't worry, you'll see the Chief's reaction to the letter in the next bonus chapter.**_


	10. BONUS: Dear, Lassie

**_A/N: Hey guys, sorry for the wait... Um... Well, there's nothing else to say, except that my life is seriously crazy these days, and I'm lucky if I can find enough time to sit and type up all my drafts._**

**_This chapter is short, but I hope it's good! Remember: I warned you these bonus chapters would be short... I wasn't kidding._**

**_Oh, and I am still planning on doing an alternate ending! I just haven't gotten around to finishing it yet. The muse has been picky lately..._**

**DISCLAIMER: All I own are the typos. :(**

**ENJOY!**

_**OOOOOOoooooOOOOOO**_

**BONUS: _Dear, Lassie_**

_**OOOOOOoooooOOOOOO**_

Lassiter watched the Chief intently as she hesitantly took the seemingly innocuous notebook from Henry. She looked at it warily before opening it to the page that seemed to have been marked for her. Lassiter figured her face would remain as blank as it had been when she'd arrived just minutes earlier. After all, how could the late psychic's rambling notes change how the Chief of the Santa Barbara Police Department felt about anything?

Lassiter felt a pang of emotion he refused to acknowledge hit him as he realized he missed Spencer's stupid rants. He shoved the feeling away, but not before he'd thought of all the useless '80s trivia he would never hear again in his lifetime; at least, not in the same way, and never from the one person that seemed to have coined the idiotic phrases from the era. He had dismissed these things as distractions, but as he watched the emotions that crossed Vick's face, he realized that they, and the man that delivered the sometimes-crazy outbursts had become an integral part of his previously dull life, so much so that without them he didn't know where he stood with himself or the world anymore. His world had been turned on its side one too many times for him to recover.

Looking once more at the expressions on Vick's face, Lassiter concluded that Shawn had had a similar effect on her. The Chief's face, which had once been impassive, now displayed the guilt she felt over Shawn's passing, the grief, shock and just plain sorrow.

Then, as she read whatever it was Shawn had supposedly written for her, the look on her face wasn't so painfully similar to the sadness found in the eyes of the others. He saw her lips part in shock, and a bit of indigence, but soon change to understanding and acceptance. Lassiter could still see a touch of sadness in her eyes, even as she finished reading and turned the page. He expected her to recommence reading, but was surprised when she held the notebook out to him.

He felt his brow furrow in confusion. Surely Spencer hadn't written a note for him, too? Why would he?

"The next letter is addressed to you, Carlton," Vick said quietly, still holding the notebook out to him. Lassiter reached for it, and held it away from his body as if it might bite him. The Chief rolled her eyes, "Just read it."

And so he did.

_**OOOOOOoooooOOOOOO**_

_ Dear, Lassie_

_ I know, I know... You miss me. Don't be embarrassed! I would miss me too if I were in your size 12 narrows, but that doesn't matter. What matters is that you know that unless you yourself took your gun out of its holster, aimed it at me, and pulled the trigger, then you were not responsible for my death, injury, maiming... maim-ment? Maim-a-ment? Again, whatever. The point is this: It was not your fault._

_ I think._

_ And before you run off to go fight crime, just stick with me for another minute, okay?_

_ You have to know that all those times I mocked you, and all the jokes I made at your expense... Well, I respected you even though I do (did?) those things. And I'm sorry if they really did cause you as much of a headache as you've been constantly moaning about. I'm not apologizing for the nicknames though. I like them._

_ Take care of Jules for me, and keep an eye on Gus, okay? You know how he likes to get himself into trouble. I mean seriously, how many psycho chicks can one guy possibly date?_

_ And take care of yourself too, Lassie. Don't get yourself killed in some kind of last stand or something. I'm trusting you to watch out for the others, and you have to promise me you'll do it. I'm counting on you._

_ Now, go out there and get me some of that sweet justice I deserve!_

_ -Shawn_

_**OOOOOOoooooOOOOOO**_

_**Yay! I really like Lassie's bonus chapter. Mostly 'cause I really like the dynamics of Lassie and Shawn's relationship. Not ship ship, but FRIENDship. Or rather I-tolerate-you-because-I-have-to-ship...**_

_**Oh, the part about the "size 12 narrows" is from "Gus Walks Into A Bank". That line just really stuck with me, and I wanted to incorporate it somewhere in here. I wasn't sure if you guys would remember it though... **_

_**So, please let me know what you liked, disliked, favorited, etc. Hearing from you is the bright side of my rather dull days!**_

_**Who did I say was up next? Gus, right? Yay!**_

_**Enjoy the rest of your week!**_


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